Strange Affection
by Sachehund
Summary: By the time Veronica finds out that the Courier she's been traveling with is a genuine sociopath, it's too late to get away- or is it? Rated M for language, violence, sexual themes, and blatant body horror; not for the timid.
1. Sunburn

This is another story hailing from the falloutkinkmeme on LJ. It's been ongoing for some time and is nearing a finishing point. People who've read it on there will notice that there are some noticeable changes in this version of the story- continuity and pacing being one of them- but aside from that, the original piece is more or less intact.

**WARNING: **You know those stories where they warn you there is nasty, abusive content and it ends up being pretty tame, overall? This isn't one of them. I'm serious when I say, the longer this story progresses, the more obvious it's going to be that I'm not pulling any punches. This version may or may not have its blatantly adult scenes toned down for posting on this site, but if you happen to find the original version through the kinkmeme, **please be advised that it** **is not censored in any way, shape, or form**. There is graphic sexual violence and other dark themes running rampant through this sucker, and I make no attempts to pretty it up, nor would I. If you find this kind of material triggering, please keep this in mind as you read.

It's also worth mentioning that there is also nothing in the story that isn't already asserted by the game in some way, shape or form, save the dynamic between the Courier and Veronica (_and even that isn't entirely put down by the game; thank you, silly mechanics_).

And again: there are numerous f/f themes and descriptions of two adult women engaging in sexual situations. If this is not your cup of tea, you're reading the wrong story. I will clearly mark chapters that have adult/sexual themes in them so people know what they're getting into.

**Character Roster**: F!Courier, Veronica, Julie Farkas, Vulpes (_much later in the story_), passing mention of various companions and questlines. So, obviously, there are spoilers.

Chapters will vary in length pretty consistently. If that gets annoying, let me know. And obviously, if you have questions, criticisms, or blatant praise (_praise is good, i still get nervous about posting material that's this outright nasty_), feel free to spit that out as well. Just try to keep criticisms constructive.

* * *

><p><strong>[<strong> :: Sunburn :: **]**

* * *

><p>For all intents and purposes, it was a normal day at the Mormon Fort, if one could ignore the incredible heat wave.<p>

The high noon sun shone down, both welcome and punishingly oppressive, those few that milled about between the tents doing so hurriedly to do what little they could to escape the heat. The Followers' administrator, usually making it a point to be in a position of high visibility, had opted, as many others did, to seek shelter, seated as she was at the threshold of the tent occupying the fort's southeast corner. She had shed her lab coat and rolled up her sleeves, the heat radiating from all directions forcing her to fan herself with the clipboard she had in hand. The makeshift glue that typically held her hair in a prominent mohawk had already failed to do its job enough times throughout the morning that she'd decided to tie her hair back in a spiky ponytail, finding the improvised style to be the lesser of two aesthetic evils.

The other doctors present had made it a point to observe the courtyard quietly from the entrances to the various tents, and few seemed all that happy with the prospect of stepping out into the sun when a familiar individual- carrying both a rucksack and a messenger bag, and none-too successfully at that- made her way through the front gates. Their relief in seeing her intention to bypass the lot of them was palpable, their collective curiosity then piqued by the young woman's deliberate stride as she approached Julie.

Julie, herself, was surprised enough to raise to her feet upon seeing Veronica make her way towards her, only too willing to chance stepping out into the direct sunlight to meet the former scribe halfway.

"You're alive," was all she said, eyes wide, hand raising as if to touch the exhausted young woman's face.

Veronica turned her head; by the immediacy of it, it wasn't the sunburn she was sporting that made her resistant. Rather, it was reflex. Julie's hand lowered, the administrator's expression becoming mindful.

"I need some water," Veronica said hoarsely, the look she gave Julie as distant as it was imploring.

"Of course..." Julie's glanced deliberately down towards the former scribe's neck, more surprised by what she _didn't_ see than what she did; otherwise, it was difficult to keep from noticing the spray of blood along the thin material that covered the younger woman, intermingled as it was with the sweat that sheened what bare skin there was to be seen. "Come with me," she said, nodding in the direction of observation tower.

Gaze dropping to the ground to absently observe the patchy, dried grass beneath her feet, Veronica took a breath, visibly attempting to steady herself. "I think... I'd rather stay out here," she said, doing an admirable job of keeping her voice even.

Julie watched her quietly for a moment, doing what little she could to gauge the former scribe's state. "I understand," she said, lapsing into a brief pause, her concern only becoming more pronounced as the silence passed between them. "But as much as I'd like to accommodate that..." she added tentatively, "I really think it'd be best if we went inside."

"Is that an order?"

Julie smiled, undeterred. "No," came easily. As did, "If it helps, you can think of it as sound advice."

Smiling, even slightly, had already started to feel foreign... but it was welcome. "It does," she said, letting out a light sigh.

After a brief period of silence, Julie offered a tentative, "Shall we?" then, allowing the former scribe one last out.

Veronica didn't take it; instead, she nodded, falling step behind Julie to make her way towards the observation tower. There was the distinct feeling of her every step being watched, but there was little she could do about it; she knew before she ever set foot in the fort that this moment was bound to feel like a perp walk, even if it was a feeling she'd only hold privately. Stepping into the cooler air of the exam room, away from curious onlookers was its own relief; being in a place where she'd made her final decisions.

* * *

><p>[...]<p>

* * *

><p>When they'd first met, the arrangement Veronica shared with the courier was a matter of convenience, and to some degree, necessity.<p>

The ability to venture into dangerous territories, to be introduced to other groups, had been something she'd lacked for some time, just as it was becoming imperative to do both. Veronica's senior by at least five or ten years, the courier- Dobie, she called herself, "it's short for Marietta,"- she had instantly made an impression upon the scribe, the sheer weight of presence she'd carried with her upon arriving at the crossroads of the 188 speaking volumes in and of itself. Capable, possessing a look that was easy on the eyes even when she was caked head to foot with dirt and grime, her age worn like a badge of honor, Dobie was lean, thinly muscled and, at times, appeared almost androgynous.

Her hair, short-cropped and combed back with only a few errant cowlicks falling into her face, was a bright silver, nearly white, giving the impression that she was already beyond her advanced years, though that was quickly dispelled by the youthful contradictions in her facial features. She didn't have an answer for the discrepancy, except to say that it had happened gradually; she could, however, say with some certainty that it began after she'd sustained a head injury in the Goodsprings cemetery. It was an event Veronica knew better than to ask about after a couple of her questions had been met with queasy, impatient looks and sharp rebukes.

Considering what little the scribe had been told, however, this was more than understandable.

Beyond that- and the curious aversion the older woman had to being called by anything other than her nickname- the impression given was a good one, and though the courier had a code of conduct that could be called questionable at best, the scribe had grown to like her. Conversation was easy, easier than it was with the people she'd called her family, and save for a couple subjects, there was very little Veronica could mention that was considered taboo, though most of the topics they alighted upon were rather mundane in the beginning.

Case in point: "You ever gonna tell me where you got a goofy nickname like 'Dobie'?" the moniker too peculiar to keep from mentioning; it had been a long walk, and the stretch of silence made it easy for the scribe to give in to her curiosity.

"It started as a joke," Dobie replied with a shrug. "Every time I'd deliver something, it always seemed like some jackass would ask me to run even more errands for them. Seems like we've got that in common."

"That... doesn't really explain anything, but okay."

Dobie smirked, lit cigarette clenched between her teeth, a brief drag taken from it before she plucked it from her lips to give an answer.

"It's a kind of dog," She paused, ashing her cigarette on the pavement as they walked, the comment seeming apropos of nothing at first. "One've my clients said," she cleared her throat, affecting a southern drawl and a puffed-up posture, "'s'what I like about yew Mo-haw-vee _Es_press folks; y'fight like dobermans and y'fetch like 'em, tew.'" She snorted. "Guess the name stuck." She grinned wryly. "Once he told me what a doberman was, anyway."

The more they'd talked, swapping anecdotes and crude jokes during journeys that would have otherwise been painfully boring, the more Veronica began to see a chance to bring up topics of greater concern. The Brotherhood, their direction, her place among them. Her sense of trust towards the courier had become great enough that she'd trusted her with one of the most important decisions of her adult life.

It was a mistake she'd live to regret.

In truth, the woman she'd thought was a friend, an ally- someone she'd envisioned as something much more than that, once upon a time- was little more than an opportunist. She should have seen it, in some of the courier's asides, in her demeanor. The way she wheeled and deal'd with the various merchants and homesteaders- lying her way into a higher profit margin, extorting money from even the most well-intentioned travelers- left little question as to the shaky ground her morals occupied. But that was just how things were done out here, right? That was how people had to deal with one another. She'd seen it at the 188, had taken it as a given... and had naively assumed that necessity made even the best people stoop to behaviours they'd otherwise deem distasteful.

Had she willfully missed the worst of it, though? Signs, indicators...

"So this little escapade of yours," Dobie had said in the midst of Veronica's bid to show the Brotherhood their failings, absently scanning the Helios ONE terminal. "Is this some backwards way of saying 'I'm sorry' for not breeding?"

At the time, Veronica had considered it a fair question. It'd struck her as uncouth, certainly, but Dobie had never been anything but blunt. It was something she'd appreciated about her.

"I don't think so," Veronica told her, her own eyes trailing over the options on the monitor as Dobie highlighted the ARCHIMEDES platform. "I guess I hadn't really thought about it."

"You can't add members using their usual draconian methods," Dobie replied, hitting the enter key to start the activation process. "Did you ever try to?"

Veronica winced inwardly at the question, unable to keep the frown off her face. "I... thought about it," she admitted grudgingly. "I tried, early on... couldn't go through with it."

"But you're capable."

"Yeah..." Veronica pursed her lips, arms crossing over her chest, eyes turning to the ground. "We're required to take a fertility test when we come of age... following through on the results isn't really enforced anymore, just... strongly encouraged." She allowed herself a faint half-smile, humorless though it might have been. "I asked Scribe Schuler to fake the results for me, make it so I didn't get too much 'encouragement'..."

"And you feel bad about that?"

Veronica flushed. "I didn't say that."

"You did, sort of," Dobie observed, failing to expand on that point. "It's not your fault you're not willing to take a chubby for the team."

Veronica snorted, turning her eyes to the courier reluctantly. "You make it sound so romantic."

"So do they," Dobie replied, returning her smile with a sardonic one of her own. "If you hadn't faked that test, I'd bet good money that someone would've forced the issue."

The scribe hadn't replied; the implication was too disturbing to dwell on for long.

There'd been contempt in that exchange, contempt she hadn't paid any mind. It was common; no one liked the Brotherhood, they merely accepted their presence. Learning about some of their backwards policies, Dobie's spite for the treatment of their members didn't seem incongruous.

In hindsight, maybe it should have.


	2. The Collar

**[** :: The Collar :: **]**

* * *

><p>"Can you tell me what happened?" Julie asked, fetching a bottle of purified water to hand to the former scribe, ushering her over towards the exam table with a subtle gesture.<p>

"Yeah..." Why else would she have come here? Aside from the desperate need for company... "I just have a quick question."

"Yes?"

Setting down her messenger bag and gingerly shrugging off the rucksack- being as careful as she could to avoid aggravating the sunburn that had painted her shoulders a painful shade of red- Veronica dug around in the pocket of the BDUs, willfully ignoring how dirtied the material had become after many arduous days of travel. She unearthed a small vial Julie had given her a week before and raised it up, well aware of the absurdity of her question even before she'd asked it.

"Who's Mickey Finn?"

A poor attempt at humor though it was- complimented by a somewhat helpless smile- Veronica found she had little else left to defend against the rising tide of uncertainty.

Julie hadn't known the answer to the question, sadly, but she'd at least found some mild humor in the note written on the bottle, remarking that she hadn't noticed it when she picked it out of the small box of vials they'd kept on hand for anesthetic. She'd promised, albeit dismissively, to ask around and see if anyone had some idea of what it meant. Veronica, for her part, did a good job of keeping her anxiety tamed enough to sit through an examination, finding the discomfort of her clothing chafing over sunburt skin to be an apt distraction from how tense being in this _particular_ room was making her feel.

"You're lucky, you know," Julie said as she took the former scribe's pulse, ignoring the rueful chuckle she heard in response. "If you'd come here any later, you might've started suffering from heatstroke." She waited for a couple seconds of silence before jotting down a couple notes on the clipboard she'd placed alongside the younger woman. "Thankfully," she continued, raising her head to see her patient's attention straying, "all you have to deal with right now is a nasty sunburn."

Veronica's eyebrows raised as she turned an incredulous gaze on the Followers' administrator.

Seeming to realize her mistake, Julie said, "All you have to deal with physically, anyway," her tone reflecting her sympathies.

Silence was all that followed.

Veronica's eyes turned back towards the ground at Julie's feet, her expression growing distant. She'd rehearsed this moment ever since she'd started to make the journey back to the fort, and now that she was in the midst of it, she found herself ... close to incapable of carrying on with what she'd hoped to say. The risks... felt much more daunting than they had when she'd stepped through the front gates.

"Veronica?"

Taking in a steady breath, she didn't raise her head immediately; it would take time to muster up the energy to speak, to answer all the administrator's questions. Seeming to realize the former scribe needed a moment, Julie said something that sounded just out of earshot, the majority of Veronica's thoughts centered around the events of the last several months- and how it all began.

* * *

><p>[...]<p>

* * *

><p>The collar came as a surprise. One of many.<p>

The first? The trip to the Legion's Fort. Under the impression that their ties to the Legion were only superficial- at least hoping that that was the case- Veronica was taken aback to see Dobie treated with some measure of respect. The stares she'd been subject to weren't all that different from the usual, but being called in to the meeting between Dobie and Caeser... was not at all in line with what had happened in the past. She'd hesitated, her unease given credibility by the impatient shove of a Praetorian that had moved in behind her, the action left seemingly unnoticed by the woman standing at the threshold of Caeser's tent.

"She's the last one that I'm aware of," she'd heard Dobie say as the Praetorians behind her led her down the red carpet. "You can check your reports. The rest of them are gone..."

Her ears rang, her stomach tightening into a knot. Her mind had rebelled at what she was hearing, what she was having confirmed by the amused looks granted to her by the Legion's elite, by the leader himself. She'd felt Caeser's eyes on her like a tangiable force; never had she met the man before, and photos were rare to come by, but his place at the makeshift throne and his presence made his identity unmistakable. He looked unremarkable, in poor health at best, but the legacy he'd forged for himself... it was there, present in his gaze, however disinterested his appraisal of her.

"And this is the one you want to... how did you put it. Keep for yourself?"

She'd looked to Dobie for answers, barely hearing the acknowledging "Yeah," over the din in her head, the Courier's eyes turning to meet her own. She hadn't been sure then, whether or not that look was meant to reassure her or simply calm her, but it had accomplished neither.

She heard herself murmur "What did you do?" in a vain attempt to get some answers, her startled question met with a derisive chuckle from the Legion's master.

"This is rich," Caeser remarked sardonically, leaning back in his elaborate throne. He'd addressed the Courier, then, Veronica's shock little more than an amusing footnote, the "little drama"- a term he applied casually- that threatened to unfold between the two women dismissed in favor of what he'd deemed more 'pressing' matters.

Incensed by the dismissal in spite of the shock she'd been subject to, Veronica couldn't help herself. "_What did you do_?" she hissed, attempting to advance on Dobie, her arms grabbed harshly by the Praetorians flanking her.

She'd gotten no answer... only intent stares from all those present. The Courier crossed the distance between them to look her dead in the eye, one finger raised to her lips to shush the scribe as her other hand pulled a small item from her pack. The slick metal of a distressingly familiar collar came into view, modified to be slimmer, more aesthetic... but its mechanisms, one of the few cruel legacies shared between Veronica's kin and those of the Legion, were unmistakable to her. What struggles she'd made to break the hold of the Praetorians was met with bruising force, her arms bent back to straighten her posture, allowing Dobie to slip the device around her neck.

The latch closed shut with little fanfare.

* * *

><p>[...]<p>

* * *

><p>She didn't want to think.<p>

She knew she'd have to eventually, as there was no one left to remember the fallen except for her and, perhaps, a handful of others. In the wake of the initial shock, Veronica could only wonder how it was Dobie had destroyed her Brothers in the bunker, if it had been a wholesale slaughter or a quick, 'humane' end. Had she taken the time they'd spent apart to hunt down those operatives left on the surface?

The only favor she could grant herself was to hold back on her ruminations, the presence of the Legion forcing her to keep her emotions in check. All but a couple of Caesar's men were openly expecting a nervous breakdown, anxious for it, watching every tic of her expression with rapt attention. She wasn't about to give them the satisfaction of putting on the display of emotion they so obviously desired to see. Spite, she found, was enough to busy her mind for the time it took Dobie to complete her talks with their illustrious leader.

Seeing the courier emerge from Caeser's bedchamber, Veronica felt her throat tighten. This woman she'd considered a friend... stood in testament to her naivete, the weight of the collar taking on new, gut-churning significance once the signal to fall in step behind her colleague- her _captor?_- was given.

* * *

><p>[...]<p>

* * *

><p>It wasn't until they'd left Legion territory that Veronica broke her silence. By that time, the urge to retaliate had become so great that she felt its weight physically, from the heavy thrums of her heartbeat to the feverish tingle along her skin. Dobie made no attempts to stop her once she'd set into motion, wisely expecting the outburst in spite of the collar's presence around the scribe's neck, bracing only for the impact of her back against a jagged rock jutting up from the Mojave hillside. The pained grunt that came from her granted Veronica little in the way of gratification, though that was in no way surprising. There was little left to alleviate the sinking feeling she'd been host to since learning of the Brotherhood's fate.<p>

"Tell me it's a lie," she snarled through gritted teeth, hands clutching the dirtied material of Dobie's shirt, "or give me _one good reason_ not to kill you."

Never mind that any reason, any response, would do nothing to dissuade her from making the attempt.

Dobie's eyebrows arched, her head canting downwards as she appraised Veronica casually. It was maddening, seeing her downplayed reactions, acting as though this were little more than an inconvenience.

"I'll give you two," the Courier said mildly, raising her hand to grasp the scribe's wrist, her attempt to pull her hand away met with a violent shove against the rock behind her. Another grunt- lighter this time, more irritated than pained- preceded a growled, "One," her hand dropping back to her side to grant Veronica some ground. "You kill me and that pretty little head of yours becomes a fine red mist. Two?" Dobie allowed herself a wolfish half smile. "You don't have it in you."

Veronica blanched. The insult dealt fazed her for long enough to give Dobie an opening, the courier's hands raising abruptly to seize hold of the armor she'd given the scribe to wear. A growl of exertion signaled the coming reversal, one Veronica may have stood a chance at counteracting had her wits been about her. Her anger, her indignity, had left her open, a point that was illustrated to her in fine detail as her back hit the jagged rocks she'd pinned Dobie to.

"Listen to me," Dobie growled, her face little more than an inch from Veronica's own, the intensity of her eyes more daunting than she'd anticipated, "You can mourn those assholes all you damn well please, but I want you to ask yourself- what the fuck did they _ever_ do for you?"

Veronica shifted uncomfortably, her own hands grabbing at Dobie's wrists. "What the hell does that-"

"'Cause I know what they did to _me_," Dobie barked at her, refusing to let her finish the question, "and what's fucked up about it?" The courier sneered, releasing the scribe with a firm shove, her arms yanked clear of the hold on her wrists. "I'm _still_ treating you better than your so-called _family_ treated me. Better than they treated _you_... or did it just slip your mind that they tried to have you killed?"

She took hold of the collar she'd placed on the young woman's neck, tugging her close enough that Veronica can feel the light whuffs of her breath against her lips. Her mind was racing, all tactical thoughts rendered ineffectual in the face of a situation she'd never had to deal with before. She wanted to talk, to scream, to do _something_, but even her voice was betraying her... and Dobie could see it, in her eyes, in her every move.

"Where do you think I got this collar?" Dobie asked her, staring intently into her eyes. "From a gift shop?" She snorted, her hand dropping back to her side. "No. I got it from _your_ bunker. So go ahead," she said, gesturing at Veronica with a sweep of her hand, "_be mad._ Try and kill me. What I've started will live on without me, but you?" She shook her head. "You'll just be dead. Without me? You're nothing."

"I love how you make it sound like you're doing me a favor," Veronica shot back through gritted teeth, trying her best to ignore the sting those words carry.

"What I love?" Dobie chuckled, eyebrows arching in an exaggerated show of disbelief. "Man, oh, man... what I love is how you make it sound like I _didn't_."

_Too much, this is too much..._ "There were good people down there-"

"-Could've fooled me," Dobie interrupted her, batting aside the weak argument with little difficulty. "And even if there were? They did a shit-poor job of showing it." Taking a moment to watch the scribe carefully, she canted her head to the side, gaze growing pointed. "You ever consider," she said, her tone dropping to deliver the statement like blunt-force trauma, "that maybe the send-off you got is the same for all the poor bastards who try to leave?"

Veronica's eyes narrowed. "Don't-"

"Don't what? 'Go there?'"

"I know what you're getting at-"

"Then you thought about it too, didn't you? That maybe-"

"-Dobie, _stop_-"

"-your teenage sweetheart got her _head shot off_ the moment she set foot outside that California bunker?"

There it was.

In spite of all her best efforts, Veronica couldn't stave off the immediate riptide of emotions that implication called to light, the thought that had been clawing at her since she'd defected from the Brotherhood. It hit nearly as hard as word of their demise.

"Why are you doing this?" was all she could ask, furious with herself for the pathetic waver in her voice, the sound contradicting the steely expression she was trying so hard to maintain. "Why not just kill me with the rest of them?"

"Because I need you," Dobie said, "simple as that. I need what you know, what you can do... and if I have to pump you full of Psycho to get you to fight for me-_really_ fight for me- I'll do it." The look in her eyes left little doubt that she would. "I'm in this to win," she added gently, stroking her fingers down the slim column of Veronica's throat to the rim of the modified collar. "Just a shame I'll be losing you in the process." Seeing her confusion, Dobie caught her chin between thumb and forefinger, leaning in as if intent on stealing a kiss. "You know what I mean," she said, her voice soft and, for the first time since she'd turned Veronica's world upside down, tinged with a hint of regret.

"Fuck you," Veronica growled, the conciliatory tone Dobie took with her as scathing as the venomous rant that preceded it.

Dobie sighed, brushing her thumb over the scribe's lower lip, her hand remaining at the former scribe's chin despite the attempts made to squirm away from the contact. "This is why we need the collar," she said, sounding genuinely disappointed. "You can hate me all you want this way... and I still get what I need."

Veronica's inability to back away from Dobie's advances was starting to eat at her defenses. She felt the courier's hip against her lower abdomen, caught hints of her leg nudging between her thighs. Her heart was pounding, her hands trembling, the light stroking of Dobie's fingers along her jawline carrying with it a kind of singular intent that turned her stomach.

"You're crying," Dobie said, her hand shifting to brush her thumb over the wet trail lining Veronica's cheek.

She hadn't noticed. Having it called out made her chest hitch, a fresh wave of tears stinging at her eyes.

"Leave me alone," Veronica snapped at her, jerking her head to the side, her hands raising to shove at the courier's shoulders.

The motion was stayed with ease, Dobie's grip on her wrists growing tighter, the both of them pinned hard against the rock at Veronica's back. "I'll do what I want with you," she said simply, staring into her eyes to solidify the point, "_when_ I want. You got that?" She released the scribe's hands with a punctuating shove, taking a couple steps away from her, giving her the room to bow her head and clean her face off. "Now come on... you'll have plenty of time to grieve when we're back at the Lucky 38. For now? Soldier up and follow me."

* * *

><p>[...]<p>

* * *

><p>Upon their return to the Lucky 38, Veronica opted to stay on the ground floor of the Casino. Not to sleep- immediately, anyway- but to let herself feel the impact of everything she'd kept at arms length during the tiresome journey across the Mojave. She was exhausted, overwrought, and completely unwilling to face the woman that had made it happen.<p>

Worst of all, she was afraid. The feeling was only exemplified by the tight grip of Dobie's hand at the back of her neck, by the pinch of her new collar against her nape... by the light kiss that followed, an unmistakable show of ownership.

She allowed for it, too depleted to put up a fight. The concession would just be added to the ever-growing pile of regrets laid at her feet.

Given some privacy, either out of pity or mercy- she didn't want to know which- she seated herself in the far corner of the cash cage, away from the Securitrons, away from the blinking lights of the cameras. She didn't want anyone to see her, didn't want to hear Dobie's scorn for her desire to grieve. For herself, for the Brotherhood... Both entered her mind as she pulled her knees against her chest, her forehead coming to rest against them, her arms draped loosely around her legs. That first sob was so akin to a dry heave that she had to make sure she wasn't about to throw up.

Finding she was in little danger of doing so, she let herself go, her shoulders quaking with every wretched sound she made.

It seemed perverse that, in a completely justified moment of mourning, she could be so ashamed of herself... but acknowledgement did little to diminish it. All it did was call that sickening kiss to mind, to remind her that, had she been just a little more attentive, she may have prevented the deaths of those she'd cared about the most.

But she hadn't been, and she didn't.

In the end, shame, above all else, took center stage for the remainder of the evening.


	3. For the Sake of Appearances

**WARNING**: Chapter has a loose description of sexual assault. It's not as detailed as it is in later chapters, though, so it's not _as_ unpalatable as it could be, but it's... still unpalatable. You have been warned.

* * *

><p><strong>[<strong> :: (For the Sake of) Appearances :: **]**

* * *

><p>Veronica was awakened to the feeling of being jostled, finding herself in the same position she'd been in the night before: upright and backed into the corner of the Lucky 38's cash cage. The chill in the air was absent along her left side, the courier seated next to her as though little had changed between them. She nudged at the scribe with her shoulder intermittently, a cigarette in-hand, a lazy smile on her face.<p>

"What the hell do you want?" Veronica muttered hoarsely, attempting to straighten despite the complaints of her aching muscles.

"We've got a big day today," Dobie informed her. "I'm gonna need you up and at 'em."

Veronica's lip twitched. "You make it sound like I've got a choice."

"Oh, come on," Dobie said, jabbing her in the side with her elbow, "don't get sore. I let you have the night off... Now it's time to earn your keep."

Veronica looked at her, dumbfounded. "Are you high?"

Dobie blinked. "No. Are you?" Then, "Do you wanna be?" was added with an amused grin.

"Dobie-" Veronica paused. The name seemed silly to use under the circumstances. "Marietta," she continued, only to be cut short by a steely gaze.

"Don't call me that," Dobie snapped, her tone carrying with it a stern warning.

"Fine," Veronica said under her breath, gingerly stretching her legs out as she let her hands come to rest alongside either of her hips, her back leaning against the corner she occupied. "You're acting like last night didn't happen."

"It happened, but it doesn't matter," Dobie said definitively, taking a quick drag off of her cigarette. "Whatever's got your panties in a twist? It'll pass. It usually does." The grin she ended that assertion with could almost be called playful; uncomprehending. "You'll be back to fawning over me in no time."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Veronica replied, bemused by the courier's confidence.

"I would," Dobie said, eyebrows arching to punctuate the statement. "So listen... I understand if you're still a little butthurt-" -Veronica snorted at the blatant understatement, a sound that was happily ignored by the courier as she continued- "-but I'm serious about this. Today's the day I take care of that little 'deal' I've got with Caesar, and I need you around for it."

Veronica's eyes narrowed. "Since when did you start rubbing elbows with the Legion, anyway?"

Dobie looked at her as though she'd just sprouted a second head. "Since they became useful?" She chuckled, shaking her head at what she apparently saw as Veronica's inability to see the... cracked-out big picture that she did. "What, you really think I'm that fuckin' stupid?"

"After last night... I don't know what to think."

"You'll get over it," Dobie assured her.

That _confidence_... for the life of her, Veronica couldn't tell where it was coming from. "If you'd like to think so," she replied lowly, going about the business of raising up to her feet.

Again, Dobie ignored her, barely missing a beat. "Caesar's got a brain tumor," she said. "He wants me to 'fix it' for him. Seems to think I can."

Veronica paused, looking at the courier curiously. "And can you?"

Dobie sputtered. "No. But he believes I can, and that's the point."

_Ah. All becomes clear..._ "You're planning to kill him."

Dobie grinned, raising to her feet to ruffle the scribe's hair. "Got it in one," she said, letting her hand get swatted away without ire. "See? You're brighter than you look."

Wincing at the contact, Veronica nonetheless seized on what was said. "So the whole collar thing-?"

"-won points with them," Dobie said, nodding. "I needed to let them think I'm on their side, playing their game, sharing their prick-waving baby-raping 'virtues.' They won't question me as much if I try and 'fail.' And if they do..."

"We'd have to fight our way out of there," Veronica finished for her.

"Right."

"So what you, uhm... what you told Caesar about-"

"-they're dead, Veronica," Dobie told her flatly, well aware of her angle. "I wasn't lying about that." She canted her head upon seeing Veronica stiffen against the wall behind her. "You might wanna tell me now if that's gonna be a problem."

It was hard to forget the courier's promise; that failure to comply, failure to fight, would result in a hefty dose of Psycho. On that basis alone, Dobie's offer to let her state any grievances was hardly an opt-out; no matter what, it would end the same way. The only difference lay in the potential for developing a drug habit.

As if things weren't bad enough already.

"If you're thinking about crossing me," Dobie said, before she could give an answer, "you might wanna consider what'll happen to you if I get captured. Killed, you die with me. Captured... well. What I've done to you won't hold a candle to what the Legion'll do. They don't care what tests you've 'faked'- they'll try to breed you anyway. Every way they can."

Veronica's jaw tightened. "I could just run away."

"You could," Dobie granted her, raising her Pip Boy to key in a peculiar sequence. "I let you off the hook last night so you could get this 'woe is me' thing off your chest, but as of right now," she continued, arm lowering, "you get outside a twenty-foot radius and poof!" She made a sudden outward gesture with her hands, adding more than enough flair to get her point across. "Bye bye. All gone." She took one last hit off her cigarette before flicking it on the floor, the butt ground out with the heel of her boot. "Just remember," she said lowly, "with or without that collar, you won't do anyone a damn bit've good on your own. May as well be dead, you know? So go ahead and blow your head off..." She shrugged. "Alternatively, you could do something that'll make your life have a little meaning..."

She lit another cigarette, holding the smoke in as she gave Veronica a pointed look.

"It's your choice," Dobie said gently, the words spoken through a veil of curling smoke.

* * *

><p>[...]<p>

* * *

><p>In the end, Veronica had conceded to the so-called request. The thought of dying held no special appeal, any more than helping Dobie did. She was caught between two choices that were equally repellent to her, and she'd stated as much. The effort had earned her the rare privilege of being dragged by the collar to the entrance of the Lucky 38, only to be released- with a scarf to conceal her collar and a standing order to walk upright once they got to the Strip itself, all for the sake of maintaining appearances. Letting anyone know the collar was present- that was a big no-no.<p>

Veronica had complied from then on out, but to her credit, she did so grudgingly.

Dobie's bid to kneecap the Legion went pretty much as expected. Many of the powerful leaders of the Mojave factions had warned the courier that taking out Caesar would do very little aside from appease those who understood little about the machinations of war. It would leave the Legate in charge, with many others to follow in his stead. She'd chosen not to listen, and when her actions had little effect- his death being little more than an inconvenience, his many underlings determined to carry out the will of their leader- she'd become infuriated. More than that, she looked genuinely _disturbed_, though the reasons for that particular response weren't nearly so clear to the former scribe.

She hid all of it well in the talk she'd had with Lucius outside of Caesar's tent, of course, but Veronica knew it was there, boiling beneath the surface. It could be seen in a trembling along her hands as she tugged off her latex gloves- a sign she expertly played off as genuine regret for Caesar's 'untimely' death- could be seen in the far-off look her eyes possessed whenever she was certain no one of importance was looking. She'd tamed it whenever she caught sight of the former scribe, replacing the peculiar distress with stoicism. It was impressive to see, and telling at that; Veronica could pinpoint all the plays the courier made to exemplify her sincerity to the various Legionaries she spoke to. And while the former scribe hadn't been witness to what had occurred inside the tent, she could only imagine that those deft manipulations had been put to good use before the assembly of Caesar's top advisers.

Paradoxically, Veronica couldn't help but feel bad for some of them; she'd seen in Lucius a kind of grief that far exceeded what she would have otherwise expected, the man's years shown plainly in his listless features, as if the news had utterly drained him of vitality.

She wasn't given much time to stand and contemplate what she'd seen; the moment Lucius disappeared, Dobie had already started hauling her towards the Fort's heavy gates.

The courier didn't like losing; she'd said as much herself. Anxious to depart as quickly as possible after, perversely, being given thanks by those Legionaries 'in the know' for doing her best to save their fallen leader, she had practically dragged Veronica back to the raft they were scheduled to take back to Cottonwood Cove. She was uncharacteristically silent as they left the Legion fortress; undoubtedly, she was already thinking through a work-around, devising ways to really take a chunk out of their power structure.

To Veronica, it was intensely gratifying to see the courier so crestfallen. All that careful handiwork- god knows how many hoops she'd had to jump through to gain the Legion's trust- and she still failed.

'In this to win,' indeed.

Dobie must have sensed Veronica's satisfaction. There must have been something about it that called the courier's attention to her ward, because the look she got...

She knew whatever awaited her back at the Lucky 38 would far exceed what she'd already experienced.

The best she could do was prepare, and hope that her assumptions wouldn't come true... and if they did? She had plenty of time to think of ways to handle it.

* * *

><p>[...]<p>

* * *

><p>The tense silence persisted throughout their journey back to the Lucky 38. It seemed safe to assume that Dobie was hoping it would set Veronica's nerves on edge, and in part, that hope was realized. The silence was daunting, no matter how much Veronica wanted to take pleasure in the courier's discomfort. Every absent smile she failed to restrain only added to her handler's mounting ire, added greater potential for fierce recriminations.<p>

The only time Dobie ever seemed to ease was when she could see the scribe's uncertainty gain traction.

* * *

><p>[...]<p>

* * *

><p>It wasn't until they'd reached their destination that Dobie had acted on her mounting frustrations. When she did, there was an urgency to it, a desperation that Veronica hadn't anticipated. She found herself pinned to the corner of the elevator as it made its way up to the Presidential Suite, the kiss she was subjected to nothing short of bruising, the intent... undeniable. She'd expected something to happen, certainly, and this had been one of the many scenarios to cross her mind, but the underlying <em>necessity<em> expressed in Dobie's actions...

At one time, Veronica had fancied the idea of being with the other woman. Had thought about it in intimate detail, the more she got to know her. Through that entire time, she hadn't stopped to notice that the courier had effectively cut her off from what had been her entire world, had encouraged her to leave behind everything familiar in favor of absolute solitude. She couldn't help but wonder if Dobie had known what the outcome would be in the first place, if it hadn't been calculated on her part. She wondered, also, if she wasn't giving the courier too much credit.

The woman was a firestorm of anger and frustration, the foolish plan she'd executed amidst the Legion forces so anticlimactic that it was undoubtedly driving her crazy. Had the events of the past day not irreparably damaged Veronica's view of her, the complete failure might have garnered her some sympathy. At the moment, the only response the former scribe had to it was a cold wave of disgust, the chime of the elevator giving her only a brief reprieve as the courier tugged her into the main room of the suite. Dobie didn't even bother to drag her into the bedroom; no, she was intent on pushing her onto the floor.

If she said anything in protest, it was ineffectual. The struggles she'd made were met with the muzzle of a gun- _felt it nuzzle at her in places it was never meant to go_- with stern warnings of what would happen to her if she resisted the advances. Dobie had gotten as far as tugging the scribe's pants down and burying her face between her legs before she'd given up in frustration. Every brush of her tongue had been met with distressing numbness or overwhelming hypersensitivity, Veronica's inability to close her legs, to get away, making each sound that came from her- those scant few that did- more akin to distressed whimpers than the heady moans Dobie seemed to desire. In the end, her nervousness, her halted sounds and paralyzed limbs had done little to help the courier slake her appetite. She'd raised to her feet, leaving the scribe half-naked and dazed on the floor of the suite.

"It's like a graveyard down there," Dobie growled spitefully, making a show of wiping her mouth. "Just a bunch of cold, dead nerves."

Veronica didn't have the energy to get up again once the older woman had retreated to the master bedroom. She lay on her back with her legs fallen together, her breaths hitched, almost pained. Though the temptation to cry was present- urgent at those times her mind seized upon what had just happened- she couldn't will herself to do anything more than stare blankly at the ceiling, keenly aware of Dobie's saliva cooling slowly between her thighs.


	4. By Any Means Necessary

So I'm going to try something a little different. I've been picking through novels where the POV switches between characters is fluid, ie: there is no indication that it's shifted, but I don't know that the tactic'll work all the well in this case. So, I'm going to use just a centered ellipse without brackets to note when it's changed within a single scene.

It's one of the few 'big changes' that'll be appearing in this story, aside from the chronology. Originally, Julie didn't have her own POV segments, but I liked her role in the story so much- and realized that adding it in wouldn't take away from Veronica's own POV- that I thought it would be helpful to give her one.

* * *

><p><strong>[<strong> :: By Any Means Necessary :: **]**

* * *

><p>In her time at the Mormon Fort, Julie Farkas had seen all manner of abuse. It didn't matter if it was self-inflicted or at the hands of another; it was an omnipresent force in the region, made virulent by lives forged from futility and desperation.<p>

During those first few months of working as a full-fledged doctor- and armchair psychologist to some- she'd worried, rather foolishly, that she would someday become desensitized, that she would stop being shocked by the creativity men and women could exert when it came to the ways in which they harmed others. In time, some degree of that had occurred, if only out of necessity- there was only so much emotional energy one could spare in a place like Freeside- her nerves deadened to some of humanity's excesses... but there were still plenty of cases that got to her.

Whether that was a relief or a very real detriment was rarely a question; often times, it was both.

In the case of the young scribe- former scribe, rather- it was as though she had gone back to those first few years of administering to the weak and the weary. The Followers doctor had known of the peculiar woman for some time, had seen her visit the Fort whenever the courier had decided to drop by with a new shipment of medical supplies, but hadn't interacted with her all that often. The first thing that stood out about her was the innate curiosity she displayed upon taking in her surroundings, the sheer level of interest she had in the everyday existence of the Fort's occupants commanding no small amount of attention. At first, that interest was met with suspicion, but after a while, Julie had reasoned that the interest was genuine- if not a little naive- regardless of the fact that the young woman's odd brand of standoffishness had come with a guilty edge to it.

She'd come to learn what that was about, as well... but that was for another time.

The wonderment hadn't lasted, however. When Veronica had arrived one day with a scarf around her neck and a decidedly dull look to her eyes- her expression was one that the Followers had seen far too many times in the past, easily identifiable as a kind of shock- Julie's heart sank. There was a dazed regard for everything around her, as if returning to the Fort was meant to wake her up, snap her out of... whatever it was swilling around in her head. Expecting her to turn and leave the moment their eyes met, Julie had been surprised by Veronica's willingness to approach regardless of her state, a reassuring sign that maybe, just maybe, the dazed expression didn't mean what she thought it did.

That Veronica was eager to speak was another good sign, at least, and the conversation they'd gotten into was enjoyable enough to provide an apt distraction for the both of them, distracting enough that they spoke for well over an hour. The more time that passed, the more the former scribe had seemed to ease, and Julie found her to be an incredibly amusing, if not highly intelligent conversational partner, the topics they spoke about spanning over everything from regional politics to Fort gossip and occasionally, to the suspiciously long shelf-life of pre-war snack cakes.

The sudden show of light emanating from the Lucky 38 tower brought that to an abrupt halt, however, the late evening hours and the dimming sky obliging the Strip to advertise itself as blatantly as possible. The former scribe's eyes had turned towards it, a look of disquiet settling over her features.

"You alright?" Julie asked her carefully.

Veronica had smiled faintly- sheepishly- returning her gaze to Julie as she rubbed at the base of her neck through the material of the scarf. "Yeah," she said. "I..." a pause, "-yeah."

Julie wasn't buying it, but she let it slide- though the brief urge to say so had apparently made its mark on her expression, as the young woman reacted to it with some immediacy. The look was both prompting and dissuading, as mixed a message as she'd come to expect from... well. It wasn't her place to make assumptions as to what the former scribe had endured, but the look was one she'd seen before.

"Look," Veronica said, anxiousness pursuading her to break the brief silence between them, "I really hate to cut this short, but I've gotta get back to Dobie."

The name had brought some regret to the former scribe's features, but Julie was unable to puzzle out why. Leaving it be, she said, "Well," offering Veronica a conciliatory smile, "stop by again sometime if you get the chance. I see you in here with your friend sometimes, but I don't think I'd ever actually spoken with you."

"I'll try," she said, returning Julie's smile with a genuine one of her own.

And that was the end of it; the younger woman turned to make her way towards the Fort's gates, though she slowed as she got closer to them, her eyes turning back up towards the tower. Julie watched her for a time, the hesitance she saw in Veronica's gait and posture observed with keen interest. It had seemed deliberate for all of a heartbeat, but it didn't last; the young woman's haste was quick to take over anew, and within moments, she had disappeared behind the heavy doors, leaving the administrator with a small piece to what would eventually become an incredibly elaborate puzzle.

* * *

><p>[...]<p>

* * *

><p>"That was right after it all started, wasn't it?" Julie said, the question a rhetorical one. "I'd always wondered what made you stop short like that..." She rolled up the scribe's pant leg, a surgical tray with a variety of instruments tugged in alongside her; glancing upwards, she noted Veronica's discomfort and gave an apologetic smile. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," she said gently, turning her attention back to a hastily-bandaged knee, pausing briefly to take in the sight of a large, ragged scar on the calf muscle.<p>

She'd noticed it before, in passing, but she had mistaken it for collateral damage. Getting a better look at it-

Veronica spoke up before Julie could raise any questions, saying, "She didn't do that," with a forced half-smile. "That one's my fault."

The attempt to act normal- it didn't go unnoticed.

"Looks old," Julie observed in spite of that, allowing the young woman the out upon seeing just how quickly she'd seized upon it. "Where'd it come from?"

"It's a long story."

"I've got time."

"It's... not all that interesting," Veronica said sheepishly, "but I suppose I can indulge some misplaced curiosity..."

"I'll be the judge of that," Julie said, affording her an easy smile, "assuming you wouldn't mind telling me about it," her attention turning back to the scarring on the young woman's knee.

Veronica smiled lopsidedly again, the expression tentative. "Not gonna drill me about Dobie?"

Julie glanced back up towards Veronica's face curiously. It was another hint that, in spite of the younger woman's reluctance, there was a very real need to talk about it; it made her wonder if, perhaps, there had been times in the past where she'd missed those passive requests for pointed questions.

That thought alone bid her attention back to the the scarring on Veronica's knee; that, she knew, was the courier's doing. The wound had been dressed by the administrator herself a little over two weeks ago under rather... trying circumstances. It still pained her to see; it was yet another aspect of the situation that made her wish she'd spoken up the day Veronica had arrived at the Fort, asked the questions that had nagged at her. She knew it wouldn't have done a damn bit of difference at the time- and indeed, she _had_ pressed the younger woman for answers on several occasions- but she allowed herself the moment of irrationality.

"I'd like to," Julie replied after a moment's consideration, quietly shaking off the decidedly unhelpful train of thought. "I noticed you wearing her Pip-Boy," she added, nodding towards the device on the scribe's arm. "I've been wondering how you managed to get your hands on it..." and while she didn't say why, she knew her implication was plain, "never mind how you got that collar off."

Falling silent, Veronica's eyes shifted back down towards the work Julie was putting into cleaning her injury, lips drawn into a tight line. Her forced mood, briefly tempered by the change in topic, had dropped completely. If it hadn't been inevitable, if the former scribe hadn't raised the issue herself- twice, at that- the administrator might have felt a little guilty about it. Instead, she took it as a good sign; it meant she wasn't incorrect in assuming that there was a very real desire to talk about it.

...

_Nearly a week ago,_ Veronica noted inwardly, almost absently, startled by the dim realization. Had it really been that long...? Time had dragged prior to that; the months she'd spent in the courier's company had felt like years. That the conclusion of that time had passed so quickly...

The reminder was enough to start its own chain reaction, a tremor making its way along hands that sat idle on her lap; in that moment, she was only too aware of how perilously close she was getting to an out-and-out breakdown.

Zero to sixty in no time flat.

"I know I said this before," Julie told her, sensing the blatant shift that had taken place, "but it's worth repeating. You don't have to say anything if you don't-"

"I _have to,_" Veronica interrupted the administrator, her words, the sudden raise of her head ending up being far more abrupt than she'd intended. "Don't you get it? I have to tell _someone_... and even if you end up hating me for it, even if you end up throwing me out on my ass the moment I-" She took in a sharp breath, shutting her eyes in an attempt to blot out a growing urge to simply let go. _Just a little longer, just say it-_ "It doesn't matter... what happens now. Someone has to know, and the only someone I can think to say it to..." she smiled in spite of herself, though that, too, was a dark, humorless expresson, one she adopted plainly upon opening her eyes to meet Julie's vexed gaze, "-is you."

It wasn't surprising to see that Julie had no earthly idea of how to react to what she was being told, or that her bemusement didn't stop her from attempting to respond, "I'm pretty sure I won't end up _hating_ you," said in a confused attempt to dissuade the younger woman's fears. "It'd have to be pretty bad to-"

"Believe me," Veronica said ruefully, more forceful than she'd thought herself capable, under the circumstances. "The things I've done... the things I had to do-" She halted herself suddenly, biting down on her lower lip. "It's bad," she admitted reluctantly, helplessly, her head lowering. "It's _really_ bad."

Julie paused. Instead of insisting that the scribe was wrong- that it couldn't be _that_ bad, that her fears were unfounded- she opted to hold her silence in that regard, taking in Veronica's expression as best she could.

"We'll work our way up to it," Julie said, then. "I think, for now... I'd rather have you get some sleep, once I'm through redressing this wound."

"I'm not sure if sleep is even an option," Veronica replied, raising her hand to clear her eyes with the heel of her palm, a steadying breath drawn in slowly. "The dreams I've been having..."

"I have a spare cot for patients I want to keep an eye on," Julie said, before the thought could be completed. "If it'd help to stay here, I can set it up for you."

"You'll be close, right?" It was hard to miss how pathetic that sounded, but for the life of her, Veronica couldn't be made to care; the request was an important one.

"My room is right upstairs," Julie reminded her, pausing for a moment. "Would you prefer I set it up there?"

As always, the woman was a blessing; Veronica was dreading the prospect of making that request out loud. "If it's not any trouble," was said regardless, the words halted, her tone barely concealing the break that had nearly taken place.

"It's not," Julie assured her. "I'll get it ready for you once I'm through here."

It was a welcome relief, not having to state it all immediately. But she needed to tell someone, and _soon_, before the will to do so left her completely. That was the entire point of being here, wasn't it?... the check-up was peripheral- but admitting some of what had occurred, much less her reasons for pausing that day at the Fort, was proving to be more difficult than she'd bargained for.

* * *

><p>[...]<p>

* * *

><p>The morning after Dobie had solidified her intentions for the former scribe was the day Julie had been referring to.<p>

Upon waking, Veronica had cleaned up what little remained of the previous night's 'exploits' as best she could, thoughts of it, the implications behind what had happened taking point at the forefront of her mind.

This sort of thing happened all the time in the Wasteland. She knew it did; she heard the stories... saw the results. It seemed disingenuous- _typical_, she corrected herself spitefully- to be so shocked that it had happened to her when it could easily happen to anyone, man or woman. And really, hadn't it been mild in comparison to some of the things she'd heard about people who'd clashed with the Fiends? From those who'd be unlucky enough to clash with the Legion and live to tell about it?

Steering her thoughts away from the topic, she opted to occupy her mind with the potential for escape. The presentation of a firearm the night before, the very real threat to make use of it...

She didn't want to die. Not like this. If she survived this out of spite alone, she'd have done well by herself.

By any means necessary.

The thought was only enforced by what had occurred later that afternoon, when the courier- dead asleep for the better part of the day- had awakened and approached the former scribe. What was said... was nothing short of gauling.

'Sorry about that.'

Somehow, it failed to sound like anything even remotely resembling a real apology.

"I lost my temper," Dobie said listlessly, as if that clarified everything.

Veronica hadn't responded, save to look at the older woman incredulously. She was being conciliatory again, seemed to accept that her apology wouldn't be taken at face value. Instead of reading the scribe the riot act, Dobie had turned her attention to her Pip Boy, absently keying in a few quick commands.

"I'll disable the leash for a while," she'd said. "Give you a couple hours to wander around on your own."

Veronica restrained her immediate reaction; the idea of having some time alone, to wander, sounded too good to pass up. She merely nodded, biting down on her tongue to distract herself from the loop of self-recrimination cycling through her head. _Just get through this,_ she told herself in a vain attempt to temper her warring trains of thought, _and you can yell at yourself all you like. _

"I'm going to reprogram the twenty-foot perimeter in two hours," Dobie told her, letting the implication remain unspoken. "Be sure to be back by then. I'd... like to make it up to you. What happened, I mean."

_Golly, _Veronica thought bitterly,_ wonder what __**that'll**__ entail._

She accepted the brief kiss Dobie placed on her lips, if only to get the older woman to let her go without a fuss. She was grateful to leave the Presidential Suite without having to say a single word.

Irritatingly, it wasn't until she got down to the Casino floor that she realized she'd forgotten the scarf the courier had given her upstairs. Reasoning that there was no point in tempting fate, that she should cut her losses and look for some other means of obscuring the collar's visibility, she went into the cash cage, purposefully avoiding the corner she'd stayed in a couple nights prior.

Veronica dug through some of the Lucky 38's storage lockers to try and locate a shirt that might hide it from view. She found it ironic that the only thing she could locate was a slave scarf that Dobie had lifted from a dead Legionairy. Wearing it around her neck like a normal scarf rather than on her head, the scribe continued to eye the storage lockers, curious. She briefly considered looking for her old robes, but opted against it; she wanted to make the most of the time she had away from the courier, and picking through all the items they'd obtained on their journeys together would take far too long.

It was then that she saw it, moments before she'd gotten the locker doors shut. The thick silver band was unmistakable to her, the dimmed red light of a depleted power supply clearly visible. Another collar; ruined, in need of repairs and 'reloading,' but a collar all the same.

_How many of these does she have?_

She made a quick grab for it, looking over her shoulder to see if there were any active cameras peering down at the cash cage. There were, but there was no sign of activity, no hint that they were still operational. The realization did little slow her rapid heartrate, her hands shaking as she turned the object over to look at it. It had detonated- dried bits and pieces of its previous 'owner' were still clinging to the inner rim- but its presence offered her the stirrings of an idea. Father Elijah had given her a few lessons on how to make these things function properly, and while she didn't care to think too much about the old man in her present situation, she could do her best to recall what she'd learned. Figuring out the rest on her own, though... and on the fly? That could be difficult.

_Do-able,_ she told herself._ It's do-able._

Opening the flap of her messenger bag, Veronica slipped the item in with the rest of her belongings. Its added weight made the bag decidedly more unweildy, but the possibilities the collar allowed for- even if those possibilities would turn out to be a pipe dream- made the added burden worthwhile.

The talk with Julie that came after- it was a rare moment of normalcy the former scribe had wished would persist. It was as if the glimmer of it was more painful than it would have been if it'd just stayed absent. That much was made apparent when it came time to leave the Mormon Fort; that pause, the one that had held the administrator's curiosity, was precipitated by the realization that she could just let the time the courier had given her run out. That it occurred to her after such a short period of being under Dobie's control... she knew it wouldn't be long before the idea had gained considerable appeal.

If she was going to save herself, she'd have to do it quickly.

_By any means necessary_...


End file.
